


Drunken piano

by itsthebat



Series: Jason's piano [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Sorry guys, a bunch of the batfam is mentioned, also dick is the best brother ever, and roy is mentioned too, but only that, i need more interactions between jay and dick, jason is playing the piano again though, this was meant to be happy but got kind of angsty, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsthebat/pseuds/itsthebat
Summary: Jason just killed someone he shouldn't have, and the best remedies are breaking into his own house, drinking and playing the piano.





	Drunken piano

**Author's Note:**

> This is like a sequel to "Another song?" but you don't have to read it to understand this one.

Drinking and climbing a building isn’t a good idea.

             It’s not the first time Jason’s done it, though—he has the keys of the front door of the manor, and he knows that Alfred is going to open if he knocks on the door or rings the bell, but it’s late and Jason doesn’t want to bother him. Also, he knows that Tim always leaves his window open at night. Too bad Tim’s room is on the second floor.

            Jason hopes no one’s watching, because he looks like a burglar and, most importantly, an idiot. He’s grabbing a bottle of vodka with his _teeth_ , and he’s climbing the Wayne _Manor_. He doesn’t really care if he falls or not, because, like. He already died. What’s worse than that?

            When he reaches Tim’s window, he stumbles inside and discovers that Tim’s not in his bed sleeping like any normal teenager would be doing at four in the morning—Jason knows he’s probably out with Bruce, or maybe with Stephanie or his Teen Titans friends or with Superman’s clone or Impulse. Not that Jason really cares about that either, he didn’t come to the manor to see Tim.

            Closing his eyes, Jason drinks from the bottle, and even though he’s already drunk half of it, he still can see her face in his mind. Her blonde pigtails, her blue eyes opened really big, really scared, the freckles on her nose. And _goddammit_ , he only wants to forget her, why’s that so hard?

            Leaning on the walls so he doesn’t fall to the floor, Jason goes downstairs. No one notices him, no one comes out to ask him what he’s doing, but Jason doubts anyone’s here anyway—Alfred’s probably down in the cave, chatting with Bruce, who is probably standing on a freaking gargoyle right now. Damian’s surely with him, dressed as Robin. Dick doesn’t even live here anymore, and Tim. Tim’s Tim, Jason doesn’t know what he’s up to these days.

            _Good_ , he thinks, because it’s like the manor is all for himself. Chuckling, he leaves the bottle of vodka on a table and straightens himself; he puts his hands behind his back and lifts his chin. Jason chuckles again and says, “Hello gentlemen, I’m _Bruce Wayne_ and I’m a _fucking dumbass_. What’s up?” He snorts. He _totally_ nailed it.

            He picks up the bottle again and takes a sip. “This alcohol is extremely delicious, don’t you think?” He looks at some statue of a man staring directly at him and bows. “Hi,” he murmurs, “what does Bruce need you for? Ugh.”

            How could he have liked living here when he was a kid? This place is a mess. It’s like a fucking museum instead of a house. A _home_. “Goddammit.”

            A phone rings, and Jason almost doesn’t realize that it’s his own. Rolling his eyes, he leaves the bottle on a table again and picks it up. “Jason?” Dick says, and Jason rolls his eyes _again_. “Are you okay, lil’ wing? I’ve been looking for you.”

            “ _Yessssss_ ,” Jason answers, pacing. Dick was there. Right. That’s part of the reason Jason ran away; not his finest moment but, whatever, who cares. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Everyone’s fine, now bye—”

            “Are you _drunk_?”

             “ _Pfffft_. No. What made you think that?”

            “Jason, where are you? I can pick you up and take you home.”

            “I’m already home,” he mutters, though it isn’t true, this isn’t his home. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, though. “And I’m okay, stop worrying about me.”

            “Jason I have to tell—” Dick says, but Jason ends the call before he can continue. He doesn’t need Dick taking care of him as if he were a baby, he doesn’t need anyone looking over him for god’s sake. He just needs to erase her face from his mind and keep drinking.

            His phone rings again, but Jason throws away it and it stops. He’s so tired. He just wants to play the freaking piano, that’s why he came here in the first place. He looks at the statue again, and it looks like it’s judging Jason. “What?” he asks, shaking his head. “Stop looking at me like that.”

            Not thinking about it twice, he picks one of his guns and—shoots the statue. It breaks into a million pieces, and Jason smiles to himself; he throws the gun away and walks to the piano room. He’s been coming here since he played the piano to Damian when his dog died—he usually plays it when there’s no one but Alfred in the manor, but once he discovered Stephanie listening to him behind the door, and another time Dick was out by the window listening to him.

            It’s not that he cares about them knowing that he knows how to play the piano. The thing that bothers him is that they listen to the songs—they often show how Jason is feeling, and he doesn’t like Stephanie or Dick or Bruce knowing that he’s angry or sad or happy. He doesn’t want them asking questions afterward.

            So it’s a good thing that there’s no one here tonight.

            Jason sits in front of the piano, cracks his knuckles. He touches the tiles, plays a tune or two, closes his eyes and rests his head on the tiles. What has he done? This is not him. He doesn’t kill children. He’s not supposed to kill kids. Drug dealers and killers and kidnappers and rapists and abusers he doesn’t mind, but kids—he doesn’t kill _kids_.

            He takes a deep breath, lifts his head from the piano. Looks at it. It’s shiny and new and it’s too beautiful and looks like the statue he shot before. Too perfect. Like it belongs to a museum. So Jason runs to the kitchen, picks a knife and stumbles back to this room, and then he starts scratching the wood until it looks old and broken. It’s still shiny, but that doesn’t really matter—he can leave a note asking Alfred not to clean it anymore.

            _Now_ he can start playing.

            This song is probably the most difficult song he’s ever played. Alfred didn’t teach him, he learned it all by himself. Roy gifted him the sheets before Jason died, when he was still Robin, because of his birthday—he hadn’t actually expected anyone to give him gifts, so when Roy gave it to him he felt good. It was the happiest he’d felt in a long while, and he remembers blushing and muttering thanks really low and Roy smiling with his teeth and asking Jason to try and play it for him. And Jason freaked out but tried to play Roy this song he’d given him. And it was a disaster, because it was a difficult song and it was the first time Jason was playing it, but Roy was smiling really big in front of him anyway and—

            Jason screams, and he feels tears rolling down his cheeks but _what the hell_ , he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care doesn’t care doesn’t fucking care—

            He closes his eyes, plays the song faster, lets it take him away. _Suggestion diabolique_ , that’s the song’s name. He feels strands of hair sticking to his face, sweat running down his back, tears in his eyes, but whatever. _Whatever_. He’s angry at himself, at the girl, at the crooks he also killed. The girl’s face appears in front of him again, and she says that she’s scared and that she doesn’t want to die and Dick’s there too, looking at him with surprised eyes, frozen in place. Jason’s angry, and he plays this song angrily. He smashes the tiles, screams again, and it’s like he’s drowning and can’t come up for air.

            This was his home. Bruce was like his dad, Dick like his brother, Alfred like his granddad—who does he want to fool, he _belonged_ here. This is the only place he’s ever belonged to—this museum, this maze, this freaking manor—and he fucked it all up. He had a home and he messed everything so badly he can’t come back anymore.

            He hears sobs, but Jason doesn’t want to admit they are his. When he finishes playing the song, he plays it again and again and again. And it’s like he’s stuck here, and he doesn’t want to go away.

            But suddenly he’s not at the manor anymore. Suddenly he’s at the warehouse again, and there are gunshots and Dick is beside him and he says they have to get the little girl out of there before she gets hurt and Jason says that he’s going to get the bad guys, that Dick goes get the girl. And Dick nods and Jason gets up and starts shooting and suddenly the girl puts herself in front of her dad, of this man that’s done so much wrong but is still her dad and it’s too late, Jason can’t stop himself from pulling the trigger. The girl’s looking at him, blonde pigtails and blue dress and glassy eyes and—

            “Stop it,” he sobs, but he doesn’t stop playing. This is it, this is him. Angry and furious and miserable and—

            “Jay?”

            Jason stops. He hears Dick asking if he’s okay, patting him on the back, crouching beside him to look at him in the face, but Jason just rests his head on the tiles again and it’s like he can’t stop crying and then Dick’s hugging him and Jason doesn’t have it in him to pull him away.

            “Jason, Jason,” Dick’s saying, muttering. Jason imagines he’s not there, that he’s somewhere else.

            And then he mutters, “I killed a child.”

            Dick’s words are soft and soothing and calm when he says, “No, you didn’t.”

            Jason looks at him this time, opens his eyes. Dick gently wipes the tears from his face, smiles. He’s still wearing his Nightwing costume, and Jason wonders if he went to his house because Jason told him he was already home and then came to the manor because that’s really Jason’s home.

            “She’s okay, lil’ wing,” Dick says, getting up from the floor, sitting beside Jason. “I got her to a hospital, and the doctors told me she was going to get better. I know you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t want to shoot her.”

            “But I—I could’ve—she’s—”

            “She’s fine.” Dick looks at him with his bright blue eyes, so full of hope and happiness. “You’re fine too, Jay. But stop drinking and shooting statues, please.”

            Dick giggles, but Jason feels like crying again. He rubs his eyes, tries to stop himself from crying again—Dick hugs him really tight, and Jason feels like a five-year-old kid he once was all over again, and all he can do is hide his face in the crook of Dick’s neck and sob once again.

            He hates drinking. He hates being so vulnerable. He was supposed to be alone.

            “I know,” Dick says, even though Jason hasn’t said anything. “You’re fine, lil’ wing.”

            “Stop calling me that,” Jason sputters, and Dick laughs.

            “No,” he says. “You’re always going to be my lil’ wing.”

            “Shut up,” Jason says, rubbing his eyes again.

            They stay like this until Jason’s stopped crying, until everything feels a little normal again, and when they stop hugging Dick looks at the piano, the scratches, and holes Jason made. He says, “I didn’t know we even had a piano.” He turns to Jason. “I didn’t know you were so good at it.”

            Jason shrugs. “You heard me play when I was younger.”

            “Yeah, but you weren’t so _good_ back then.” He looks at the piano, at Jason and then back at the piano. “Would you play something for me?”

            “I—”

            “You don’t have to,” Dick quickly adds.

            “No, I, okay. It’s fine.”

            Jason plays the same song he was playing before, suggestion diabolique, but he’s not so angry and not so sad and this time when he plays he feels Dick beside him, his hand on his shoulder, and even though he’s looking at the piano he knows Dick’s smiling.

            And this time when Jason looks at the piano, so messed up, he thinks that they are alike.  

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this!


End file.
